"I don't know.—I have not—I can't tell you.—And because I couldn't help it.—Never say, after this, I don't answer all your questions."
"Now, what is the use of all this mystery?"
"Softly, my friend; and let us not make a mess of it. Mrs. Sandford advises us to walk out awhile."
"I am obliged to her and to you for your well-meant caution, but I don't intend to go out until I have seen Alice,—if she will see me."
"But consider."
"I have considered, and am determined to see her; I can't endure this suspense."
"But Alice bore it much longer. Be advised; Mrs. Sandford wants to prepare the way for you."
"I thank you; but I don't mean to have any stratagem acted for my benefit. I will trust the decision to her: if she loves me, all will be well; if her just resentment has uprooted her love, the sooner I know it the better."
While they were engaged in this mutual expostulation, Alice, all-unconscious of the impending situation in the drama, was busy in her own room,—for Mrs. Sandford had not yet decided how to break the news to her,—and having an errand that led her to the street, she put on her cloak and hat and tripped lightly down-stairs. Naturally she went into the drawing-room, to make sure, by the mirror, that her ribbons were neatly adjusted. As she entered, fastening her cloak, and humming some simple air meanwhile, she started back at the sight of strangers, and was rapidly retreating, when a voice that she had not forgotten exclaimed, "Great Heavens, there she is now! Alice! Alice! stop! I beg of you!"
Greenleaf at the same time bounded to the door, and, seizing her hand, drew her, bewildered, faint, and fluttering, back into the room.